The Baker Street Irregular
by Adiva Calandia
Summary: The Irregulars are Holmes' wandering team of vagabonds, gathering information on the streets of London. The story of one of them. . . . PG-13 for mild swearing and mature themes. I'M BACK!!!
1. Sam

"Oi! Sam! C'mon, Guv's got a new case f'r us!"  
  
Sam sighed. "Aw, Wiggins, I jus' got comf'rtable."  
  
"Th'r's sixpence in't for ya!"  
  
Sam sprang up. "Well, now, `at's more like it! Lead the way, Guv!"  
  
Wiggins took off at a fast trot down the alley, calling to various cronies along the way. Sam ran at a quick lope, long legs lazily pumping, exchanging words with various boys who jumped out of hidden crannies.  
  
"C'mon, `Olmes's gotta new case!"  
  
"C'mon, boys, work to be done!"  
  
221B Baker Street came into view. By now some half-dozen street arabs were gathered, Wiggins at the head, Sam close behind. Wiggins rang the bell at 221, and Mrs. Hudson poked her head out.  
  
Her genteel smile disappeared. "Oh, it's you lot again!"  
  
Wiggins started to talk, but Sam stopped him, and stepped forward. "Beggin' y'r pardon, ma'am, but y'see, the Guv's expecting us. We're on oh-fish-ial bizn'ss, and I think `e'd be a bit put out if'n you did'n let us in."  
  
Mrs. Hudson scowled, but stepped aside. Sam grinned. "Thankee much, ma'am, we're very much `bliged." Wiggins motioned to the other boys, and the Baker Street Irregulars flew up the stairs.  
  
"Why, Watson, I do believe these are our friends now," remarked Holmes. Watson turned as a clattering of feet on the stair announced the arrival of Wiggins and his band. The half-dozen dirty youths fell into line, Wiggins and Sam at the end farthest from the door.  
  
Holmes sighed as he stood. "I have told you before- Have Wiggins or Sam come up here, and report to them."  
  
Wiggins grinned. "Sorry Guv, bu' you know `ow boys like us c'n be." Holmes nodded, a slight smile on his face.  
  
"Now then," he said, becoming business-like, "I am looking for two men, the first with pale red hair, fifty or sixty years old, walks with a cane. His accomplice is a young man of about twenty, black hair and dark eyes. They go by the name of Gael or Tors, one as a grandfather, the other the grandson. The younger works as a banker. The usual fee, and a half-pound to the one who finds them."  
  
Holmes handed each one a sixpence, and they all turned towards the door. "And Sam," said Holmes. Sam turned, eyebrows raised. "I should like to talk to you."  
  
Wiggins glanced at Sam, who waved him away. Wiggins shrugged and geaded out the door.  
  
Holmes waited until everyone but he, Watson, and Sam had exited, then turned back to the youth in front of him. "Please, sit down." Sam looked a little puzzled but pulled up a footstool and sat down, leaning forward.  
  
"Well Guv? Wot is't?"  
  
Holmes had remained standing, and simply looked down at Sam for a few minutes. Finally, he nodded and spoke.  
  
"I would like to know, Sam," he said. "Why you are impersonating a boy."  
  
A/N: I'm working on the second chapter, don't worry. Until then, use that big ol' review button. Also, for you LotR fans, read my other fic! Domo,  
  
Adiva 


	2. Samantha

Sam gasped and gaped at Holmes, and Watson looked puzzled.  
  
"How'd- How di' choo-"  
  
"It was simple, really." Said Holmes calmly. "More obviously, you have developed physically too much to disguise it anymore. However, more subtly, you mend all your clothes, and do your best to keep clean. You also have some distinctly feminine mannerisms, including being able to actually charm Mrs. Hudson into letting the boys into the house."  
  
Sam was still gaping at Holmes. But suddenly, she simply burst into tears. Watson sprang up, and helped her onto the couch. Sam sniffed loudly and desperately scrubbed at her eyes. She tried to speak, but instead sobbed again. Holmes was remarkably sympathetic. "Take your time, my dear, you've had this in you for years."  
  
After several uncomfortable minutes, the sobs quieted and Sam looked up. "Yor- Yor roight- I mean," She said, then suddenly coming out of her thieve's cant and cockney, "You're right, of course. I-" talking in a civilized fashion evidently proved too much for her, for she dropped back to a cockney. "Me rea' name is Samantha McLare. O'course, you recognize the name. Me dad was that banker `oo died in an `ouse fire a while ago."  
  
"Ah, yes," interrupted Holmes. "I remember the papers making much of it. No one ever found a good reason for the fire starting."  
  
Sam glared at Holmes. "Sir, i' might be`oove you to qui' interuptin' me story."  
  
Holmes looked as contrite as he could. "My apologies, Samantha. Pray, continue."  
  
Samantha wiped her face again and sniffed. "Well, I survived some'ow. A lotta me `air got burnt off, an' I was still little. So I got meself some a-pro-piate clothes, and I pretended to be a boy. `Ventually, I met Wiggins there. An' then I met you two. An I suppos' you granny the rest, since yor so bloomin' clever."  
  
Holmes nodded sympathetically. "This is an intriguing story, Samantha-"  
  
She interrupted, "Call me Sam, I'm more used to it."  
  
"All right, then, Sam. Do you mind if I say one thing about your parents's death?"  
  
Sam smiled grimly. "I've `ad about seven years to brood over it. I'm over it."  
  
"Well then," continued Holmes, "I have long been of the state of mind that that fire was arson, and not a mere accident. However, as there seemed to be no real reason for the arsonry, and I was never consulted, I did not pursue it further."  
  
Sam raised her eyebrows. "Arson? Y'mean, i' was inten-shunal? But- But why? Dad never had tha' many enemies...."  
  
Holmes shook his head, already deep in thought. "Well, thank you, Sam, you've explained everythng admirably."  
  
Sam stood up, then paused and said, "This is secret, righ'?"  
  
Holmes evidently didn't hear, so Watson spoke up. "Of course, Sam."  
  
She smiled. "Thanks. By th' way, what's the time?"  
  
Watson glanced at his wrist. "About a quarter `til three."  
  
"Cor, I better go. I'm a newsie, y'know."  
  
And with a very masculine tip of the hat, she disappeared into the street.  
  
A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Admittedly, this is kind of "another girl" story, but I'm glad you like it. I think the Baker Street Irregulars don't get enough attention.  
  
Keep on reviewing! Mata- Adiva 


	3. The Headline

A/N: Thanks for the reviews y'all! I'm going to try to keep developing this. I'm having a little trouble with the mystery genre, (It's my first time ya know) but I'll keep plugging away. Also, I'm going to lighten up on the Cockney, but go heavier on slang. Arigato, Adiva  
  
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"Oy! Sam!"  
  
Wiggins hurried out of the doorway he'd been skulking in as Sam came down the seventeen steps. "Cor, Sam, you been cryin'?"  
  
Sam scratched her face. "Me? Cryin'? Don't you cheek me, Wiggins, I'm older'n you."  
  
Wiggins grinned. "Ah, put a bung in it. C'mon- the news won't stay hot f'r long."  
  
Sam cuffed his ear gently from her greater height and the two ran off.  
  
**************  
  
"Well, Holmes?"  
  
Holmes ignored Watson's question and stood looking out the window at the two street urchins. "Ah, to be young again."  
  
Watson asked again. "Well, Holmes? Are you going to pursue this further?"  
  
Holmes sighed and stepped away from the window. He lit his pipe and began pacing the room. "Well, Watson, I just may. I have no other cases to occupy my time, and this may be just the thing to keep me interested."  
  
Watson smiled. "And where to start?"  
  
"Hmm. . . ." Holmes sat down in his armchair. "Would you bring me that book of newspaper clippings." Watson selected a large, leather-bound book from the shelves and brought it to Holmes, who began flipping through it.  
  
"Let's see. . . Arson, fires, McLare. . . Aha! Here it is." He delicately drew a clipping from the book and held it out to Watson. It ran:  
  
FIRE AT MCLARE HOUSEHOLD  
  
Early this morning, several people in East London were awakened by the smell of smoke. When roused, it was discovered that the house of the esteemed McLare family had caught ablaze. Firefighters were rapidly called, and the fire was put out before it spread to the surrounding houses. Mr. And Mrs. McLare were drawn from the house and rushed to the hospital, but both unfortunately died some time later from burns and smoke inhalation. No sign was found of Samantha McLare, their daughter, and it is feared that she too perished in the blaze. There were no other casualties. The cause of the fire is unknown, but it is suspected that Mr. McLare started the blaze with a match thrown in the wastebasket.  
  
Holmes clucked his tongue as Watson looked up. "A loss to society, that. McLare was quite the esteemed banker, if I remember correctly."  
  
"Well?" Asked Watson. "What have you deduced thus far?"  
  
Holmes leaned back and placed his finger tips together. "Between Samantha's story and the article? I would say that I need more data- the Times is remarkably lacking in useful information."  
  
"Why, Holmes, I'm surprised at you."  
  
"Oh really?" He raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Why is that?"  
  
"Well, usually, at this point in the case, you've worked out far more than anyone could expect."  
  
Holmes laughed softly. "Perhaps this is to be one of my failures, in which case, I doubt your readers would be much interested."  
  
Watson smiled. "Oh, I don't know. 'The Yellow Face' had a good following."  
  
Holmes smiled and said, mockingly, "I did ask you not to bring that up. But come, it is growing late, and surely your wife will want you home. You can be sure I will contact you when I have found more data."  
  
Watson rose, and the two parted company with warm goodbyes.  
  
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A/N: Eech, I'm starting to ramble(and still have really short chapters) and reveal how much of a nerd I am when it comes to Sherlock. Ah well, like I said, I'm working on it. More reviews please! Domo, Adiva 


	4. Big Bo Bodner

A/N: *Sniff, tear* You guys are the best! *blows nose* But really, thank you for all the wonderful reviews. I have a few new ideas for the story. But I'd like to warn you now- this story is going to focus much more on Sam and the Irregulars than Holmes's case. So if you don't like that sort of thing, might wanna leave now. Cool. Okay, now that's straightened up- on with the story!  
  
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Big Ben tolled- One, two, three, four, five, six. Sam sighed and stretched her five-foot-six frame. She was at the Old Alley- at least, that was what she and the other Irregulars called it. They stayed there, near the center of London, so as to always be in the thick of things. Various boxes and other odds and ends which had been thrown there provided adequate shelter, except for severe rain. All in all, the Old Alley was a cozy place, and the only home most of the arabs had ever known.  
  
But tonight, instead of lying down and catching an hour or two of sleep, as was usual, Sam sat and thought. She was restless, as she always was around the full moon (A/N: No, she is not a werewolf. Emphatically not), and her talk that morning with Holmes hadn't helped.  
  
She stood up. Wiggins and a few other boys looked up lazily from their spots on various lean-to's, but didn't remark- Sam always wandered the streets, more than anyone else. She began walking, not really sure where she was going, only knowing that she wanted to walk.  
  
Her pace quickened as she neared Hyde Park- always a good place to walk, or run, or just sit. There were, of course, still people there, but it didn't deter her. Many of them were other homeless people, like her.  
  
Big Ben rang out twice more before she headed back for the Alley. She had thought a good deal, and made up her mind as to what to do. She stepped into the Alley and immediately noted that several boys were gone- out to do jobs or to patrol the streets. She strode to her lean-to and flopped inside.  
  
There was already someone in there.  
  
She bounced back out again, helped slightly by the fact that the someone was standing up quickly. Sam straightened up and surveyed the boy that had invaded her home.  
  
Sam was tall, skinny, and wiry. She could hold her own through intimidation, usually. But this boy was about six feet tall, and brawny. Sam stood as straight and tall as she could, but she barely reached his chin. He glared down at her.  
  
"Whozis?"  
  
Several boys, having been disturbed by the noise, immediately began clamoring about how this was Sam, and Sam, you shouldn't mess with him, and other such blather.  
  
The big boy motioned for silence, and all obeyed. "You." He rumbled, pointing at Wiggins. "Whozis? Whazee doin' bouncin' on me?"  
  
Wiggins took a deep breath. "'At's Sam. 'E's a real nice bloke, Sam is. I'm sure 'e didn mean nothin', didja, Sam?"  
  
Sam glared at the boy. "That there is moi spo'. Whattayou doin' in i'?"  
  
"I's moi spot now, shrimp."  
  
The boys around the two gasped. Sam? A shrimp? No one had ever said that to Sam! But Sam ignored the various whispering about her and continued looking the boy in the eye. "You've got an advantaj on me, Guv." She said evenly- this was a phrase she had learned from Holmes. "You know me name, now le's 'ave yours."  
  
The boy glared even harder, matching her stare for stare. "Me name's Bo. Bo Bodner."  
  
Sam suppressed a gasp. Big Bo was known all over the streets as a boy who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. But then, Sam could be stubborn too.  
  
"You think this 'ere's yor spot? Oi beg ta differ. An' if that don't convince you, we'll fight over it. You granny?"  
  
Bo raised his eyebrows. "Time?"  
  
"Ten P-M tomorra."  
  
"Place?"  
  
"Hyde Park."  
  
Bo smiled slowly. "I'll be there."  
  
And with that, he turned and left into the night.  
  
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A/N: Okay, see, I'm thinking about a street fight. Gimme feedback! I need to know! You decide the way the next chapter goes! R&R! So, waiting impatiently, Adiva. P.S- Not one of my best chapters, but I promise they'll get better and I'll stop babbling. 


	5. The Fight!

Well, okay you guyses, I was hoping for more responses about the whole street fight thing. Eh, one's enough. For you, Anneliese (don't worry, I won't have any gross details)!  
  
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"Sam, you git, whad choo think yor doin'?!"  
  
Sam took a deep, shuddering breath, and sat down on a box. "Put a bung it, woudja, Wiggins? I know I'm a bloody git. But what was I s'posed to do, tell me that?"  
  
Wiggins' shocked face looked into her trembling one. "Well, I- I would- Bloody 'ell, Sam, I dunno! But I wouldn'a done that! A fight with Big Bo? Yor round the bend!"  
  
"I know."  
  
Sam's suddenly quiet voice put an end to all conversation, and the boys all settled down to catch some sleep. But for Sam, there wouldn't be any chance of that tonight. [Gah! Hackneyed!]  
  
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Tomorrow at ten came all too quickly. Sam waited at the park, nervous, along with many other Irregulars. "We're 'ere to cheer you on," Wiggins had explained. But Sam knew- Few of them would risk incurring Big Bo's wrath. Only she was stupid enough to do that.  
  
Big Ben tolled ten. Sam looked about anxiously, but Bo was no where to be seen.  
  
"Oy! Shrimp!"  
  
And there was Bo, right in front of them. Sam stood up and flexed her fingers as the other boys made a circle around the two combatants. Wiggins stepped near Sam for just a moment.  
  
"Good luck, Sam."  
  
And the fight was on.  
  
Bo and Sam circled each other slowly, hands raised. Sam took a moment to notice that Bo's hands were remarkably large, knuckly, and bony. Those were fists that would hurt if they connected.  
  
Bo swung a hard left, and Sam ducked under it, neatly hitting him in the stomach as she whirled to his other side. Bo grunted, but seemed otherwise unhurt.  
  
Sam shook her hand. The guy was not only big, but hard, too. He lumbered around to face her, smirking ever so slightly. He swung again, and Sam ducked again. But this time, Bo's foot came up to meet her stomach. She gasped and backed away as a murmur passed through the watching group.  
  
She straightened up. She lowered her stance and slowly stepped closer to Bo. He grinned. Sam grimaced. He raised his fist again, and everyone tensed.  
  
He swung hard at her head. She backed out of the way, grabbed his sizeable wrist, and spun him around, using his weight against him.  
  
A gasp ran through the surrounding crowd as the larger boy came hurtling toward the edge of the circle, carried by his own momentum. Everyone got quickly out of the way. Bo continued forward, unable to stop, until he demonstrated Newton's law, and was stopped rather forcefully by a bench.  
  
Sam stood panting, staring at Bo, until she felt a touch on her shoulder. She jumped, and saw that Wiggins was standing next to her.  
  
"You crazy git," he murmured. Sam laughed and ruffled his hair.  
  
"Wot, you though' Oi could'n do it?"  
  
The surrounding boys suddenly broke into excited babble as the whole thing sunk in on them, as each began reliving part of the fight to his neighbor. Sam turned around and started heading towards the Old Alley.  
  
"Sam! Look ou'!"  
  
Sam turned around to see Bo running towards her, fists upraised. One of those fists smashed down on her head, and she blacked out.  
  
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A/N: Geez, that was a lot harder than I expected. Hope y'all liked it! I have an idea what to do next, but you'll just have to wait. 


	6. Confessions....

A/N: Okay, even more complaints about the language throwing you off, and I certainly don't want that. =) I'm nothing if not flexible. I hope y'all like this chapter! Abayo, Adiva.  
  
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"Ughhh...."  
  
"Sam! You- Uh, I mean-"  
  
Sam opened her eyes to find herself in an unfamiliar room. Wiggins was perched nearby, a snifter of brandy by his arm. He sprang up as Sam tried to sit up.  
  
"No, don't. You're 'ead's too bashed up, it'll hurt."  
  
Sam quickly discovered this was true, and opted for a propped up position. She blinked blearily. "Wiggins? Wot the 'ell happened?"  
  
"Well, uh . . . " Wiggins scratched the back of his head (Anime style) in embarrassment. "Well, Bo hit you purty 'ard, and you got knocked out, I guess. So after Bo left, me 'n' a couple other blokes got you over 'ere."  
  
"Where's 'ere?" Asked Sam suspiciously.  
  
Wiggins looked down at the floor and mumbled something. Despite this, Sam caught every word.  
  
"Mr. Holmes' place? Wot in bleeding 'ell did you think you were doin', takin' me here?"  
  
"Well- Well-" Wiggins stuttered. "The Doc's here a lot, and-"  
  
"Don't unleash your fire on Wiggins, Samantha," Said the sanguine figure who had appeared in the doorway. "I asked him to bring you here."  
  
"You!" Exclaimed Sam. "How could you know-"  
  
"Quite simple," explained Holmes. "I was the policeman who broke up the fight after you were knocked out. It was easy to tell Wiggins to bring you here."  
  
Sam glanced at Wiggins. "Yeh, that's right. But Sam, why didn't you-"  
  
She cut him off with a glance, then looked at Holmes. "Go away."  
  
He laughed. "You do have a way with words, Samantha. I will return soon, and I suppose Watson will want to take another look at you." With that, he left, closing the door behind him.  
  
Sam looked at Wiggins. "You were sayin'?"  
  
He jumped and then began talking again. "Why didn't you tell me you was a girl, Sam? Er, I mean, Samantha."  
  
"Stick with Sam," she said dryly. "Why d'you think, Wiggins? Yor a smart bloke. You oughta know that no girl's gonna survive long on the streets. I'd rather not end up in the knocking-house."  
  
Wiggins blushed. "You- you wouldn't be on the job! You couldn't!"  
  
"Oh, yeh?" Said Sam grimly. "Face facts, Wiggins. Nearly every woman on the streets is gonna find a home in one 'a those houses. But I ain't, an' I wasn't. I decided that when I woke up after 'at fire. 'Strewth, Wiggins, wot else'm I gonna do? I 'eard some newsie yelling that me folks was dead, an' I couldn' do nothing else but turn into a boy. Me hair was burned off, so that was easy, and I just had to find some clothes. An' now I've lived f'r eight years as a boy, Wiggins. D'you think I'm just gonna up and tell everyone, 'Oh, yeah, I forgot ta tell ya, I'm a girl, hope you won't exclude me from the group an' make me start all over again. 'Cuz you know what? That's what would of happened. And then what? I started to come on this year, and that's when the knocking-houses'll take you. So wot would you do, Wiggins? Tell me that."  
  
Wiggins stammered. "Well- I- I mean-"  
  
He trailed off and stared at Sam. "God, you're brave. I could never have done that."  
  
Sam looked down at the ground. "I'm sorry, Wiggins, didn't mean to dump all that on ya."  
  
"It's all right, Sam. It's just-"  
  
There was a polite knock on the door and Watson entered the room, followed closely by Holmes.  
  
"Ah, Wiggins, I believe we no longer need your services." Said Holmes warmly. Wiggins stood up and took his leave, tipping his hat politely.  
  
Watson, meanwhile, had come over to Sam and was examining her head. "I must say, the boy who did this knew what he was doing when it comes to fighting."  
  
"I beat him fair and square." Retorted Sam. "Ouch!" Watson touched her nose again, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out again.  
  
"My goodness, I think you've broken your nose!" Exclaimed Watson.  
  
"Broken her nose!" Repeated Holmes. "Well, that is most unfortunate. I was hoping to have her help in the case."  
  
Sam looked up. "Case? Ouch!" She winced as Watson began to probe farther around her nose.  
  
"Indeed. Your case, in fact. I believe I am very close to discovering your parents' murderer."  
  
"'At's great! Ow!" Watson probed once more.  
  
"Well, Holmes, you'll have to surrender her to me for a day or two will I set this nose."  
  
"Very well. Sam, I assume you will have no objection to staying here for a few days?"  
  
Sam grinned. "I'd be very much obliged, Guv."  
  
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A/N: Okay, methinks I should rewrite that monolouge. Um, I hope you like it! For those wondering, I'm adding a short glossary.  
  
Knocking house: Whorehouse  
  
To be on the job: To be a prostitute  
  
And my Japanese words? Abayo means see you later, and domo means thank you.  
  
-Adiva 


	7. New Lodgings

A/N: Yes, Jen, but you're not a girl pretending to be boy in 19th century London. =)  
  
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"Now then, Wiggins, what your troupe needs to do is-"  
  
"OOOOW!" This exclamation, coming from Sam's room, was followed by a series of the roundest oaths anyone in 221B had ever heard. These were punctuated by a loud smacking noise.  
  
Watson came into the sitting room holding his cheek where Sam had slapped him. "That girl has a mouth on her that would turn a sailor's ears blue!"  
  
Holmes laughed, but Wiggins looked concerned. "Whad you do to 'er, Doc?"  
  
Watson smiled. "I had to re-break her nose. She should be fine once I set it."  
  
Another oath came from the room as Sam presumably poked herself curiously. Watson sighed. "I suppose I should do that without more delay," and he exited the sitting room.  
  
Holmes chuckled again and turned back to Wiggins. "Where was I? Ah, yes. You remember the errand I sent your boys on yesterday? Have there been any developments?"  
  
Wiggins nodded. "Yes Guv. Bill thinks 'e's got a lead on the young one, but he says the older one died."  
  
Holmes sighed and reached for his pipe. "That is too bad. Well, tell Bill to keep a sharp lookout on the young man- I think he may have something to do with this case."  
  
Wiggins stood, as Holmes withdrew several pieces of silver and handed them to the boy. Wiggins tipped his hat and headed out the door, followed by a last round oath from Sam's bedroom.  
  
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After several days, Sam was given a slightly smudged bill of health by Dr. Watson. "Now, you must be careful of this nose, and stay away from that- Big Bough, or whatever his name is."  
  
Sam smiled, but it seemed half-hearted. "Thank you, Doc. You don't need to tell me twice 'bout Bo."  
  
"Why, Samantha-" Began Holmes as the girl stepped into the sitting room.  
  
"It's Sam," She interrupted.  
  
"Well, then, Sam," smiled Holmes, "you look positively glum."  
  
Sam scuffed her toe on the rug and looked bashfully at the floor. "We- ell, y'see, Guv, it's like this. Now I've been beaten up, and Bo took me spot in Old Alley. And I mean, I'm liked well 'nough, but there ain't no boys who'll give up their spot just for me."  
  
"In short, you have no place to go."  
  
Sam looked up and nodded. "That's it."  
  
Holmes leaned back. "Quite a conundrum."  
  
"Yeh, so…." She trailed off.  
  
Holmes sighed heavily and stood up. "If you must, you may stay in the room…."  
  
Sam cried out in joy and ran to Holmes, wrapping him into a bear hug.  
  
"Until other living arrangements can be made," Continued Holmes, pushing her away. "Is that quite clear?"  
  
"Yeh, sure Guv. Thank you so much! Yor a bully guy after all."  
  
Holmes raised his eyebrows. "Er, thank you. Now shoo! Go find me some information."  
  
Sam ran out the door. As soon as door had slammed, and the sound of pattering feet had died away, Watson let out a huge laugh.  
  
"Why, Holmes," he chuckled, "I do believe you're blushing."  
  
Holmes straightened up regally. "I do not blush, Watson."  
  
Watson smiled and set about re-packing his bag.  
  
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A/N: Okay, I know I said that I wasn't going to put more until I got back in town, but all you writers know that if you have an idea, you have to write it down. And about that last bit? No worries- This isn't a Holmes romance story. -Adiva 


	8. Back on the Beat

GUESS WHO'S BACK AND BIGGER THAN EVER??!!!

Yup, it's me, back from a "sabbatical," wink wink nudge nudge. Yah. Okay, so, I don't have a lot of ideas at this point, but since I love you guys sooooo much, I'll write you a special chapter. The cockney has been down-graded, 'cause I can't remember how I used to do it ;).

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Sam emerged from 221B and breathed deeply. It was great to have a room to stay in, and a bed to sleep in, but really, nothing could beat the fresh (as fresh as it got) London air.

"Sama- I mean, Sam! I haven't seen you in yonks!"

She turned to see Wiggins running up towards her. "Wiggins, you ol' bloke, how ya been?"

They gave each other a secret handshake (which, of course, I cannot describe here). "Loads better, now that your back to the muttons."

"I missed it, mate. I really did." She looked around. "Now come on- show me where the juicy news is."

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Sam and Wiggins crouched behind the low wall across the street from the bank. "You sure 'at's where the bloke is?"

"Yeh," replied Wiggins. "The younger one. The old one, 'e nuffed it. As dead at mutton."

"What's the scoop on this younger one?"

"'Is name's Clay- Jonathon Clay. 'E works there- I think. No one'll let us in to find out mo'. 'E either works there or 'e's leechin' offa someone. 'E's there ev'ry day, nine 'til five."

"No one'll let you in there?" Sam laughed. "I'll get in, easy as kiss your hand. Watch and learn."

She stood up and straightened her clothes- cleaner and better mended than Wiggins's- and strode confidently towards the bank, dodging a hansom. She disappeared inside. Wiggins followed her, less confident. He knew that Sam could have the sweetest, most convincing tongue in London, if she wanted to- but still. . . .

He leaned on the wall outside, earning glares from passers-by. Ten minutes went by, and Big Ben tolled the half-hour. Another five minutes went by.

Wiggins tossed his sandy-brown hair out of his eyes. What was taking her so long? He had just resolved to go into the bank and find her when she walked out. She saw him and tossed a half-sovereign into the air, turning and catching it neatly behind her back.

Wiggins gaped, then spat. "What's wrong wichoo? You trying to gimme a heart attack? Stayin' in there so long-"

Sam whacked him lightly on the head. "Hullo to you too, mate."

"Anyway, you seem t'be alive. What was goin' on in there?"

Sam gestured, and they began walking down the road. "You blokes don't know how ta talk your way into nowhere. Y'just say your on an errand f'r some important git, and there ain't a door in London that'll stay closed."

"You sure? I'd think Mr. Holmes would know if someone was tryin' to fluff their way-"

"Oh, belt up. Mr. Holmes's a special case. Anyway, I just said that I had a message for a Master Clay from 'is gaffer, and they sent me in straight off. Course, I didn't go into 'is office. I just sorta lay low outside 'is door." She began counting out points on her fingers. "E's about twenty-seven, with black hair and brown eyes. He drinks and smokes. 'E's in awful good shape. Oh yeh, and I think he carries a gun in 'is pocket."

Wiggins stared. "How'd you find all that out? Wait- a gun? Strewth, you git, you coulda been killed!"

"Well, I wasn't, was I? Anyway, the only hard part was the drinkin' and smokin', and that wasn't too hard. 'E's got cigarette burns on 'is desk, and I thought I saw a bottle pokin' up outa his coat pocket."

Wiggins shook his head. "You're a know-all, d'you realize? You've been spending too much time with Mr. Holmes."

"'Ey! I'll deck you for that."

They laughed. "Where're we headed now?"

"We're gonna go spend this half-crown and eat like kings. C'mon, I'll race ya to the market."

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A/N: Well whaddaya know, I had more ideas than I thought. I hope this will hold you guys for a little until I get more ideas. In the meantime, why not sample this author's other wonderful stories? ;)

-Adiva


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